Temptation
by psychicpilgrim
Summary: Sark and Sydney both battle temptation in a most unusual way. Roughly Season 2. Sarkney.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This was written for a challenge and is set vaguely during Season 2.

**Temptation**

Nibble by nibble, Sydney snacked on a large graham cracker as her eyes struggled to focus on the flickering screen in front of her. The entire morning had passed in uncomfortable silence, with only the occasional sound byte breaking through from the boring surveillance footage.

Leaning back in his chair, Sark released a drawn out sigh, folding his arms over his chest.

"Did you say something?" asked Sydney, brushing loose crumbs from her chin.

With a turn of his head, the blonde observed her for a moment; a raised eyebrow was his only response before resuming his work. Slowly, the corner of his crooked lip drew up in amusement and Sydney could've sworn the room was spinning. She wanted to blame the lack of air-conditioning in the cramped residence, but she knew better.

Instead, she dashed from the room, calling over her shoulder, "Just getting something to drink!" Entering the kitchen, the flustered woman leaned against the wall, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.

When Arvin Sloane had first tasked them to this long-term mission, Sydney had been upset, no, repulsed at the thought of spending weeks on end with the arrogant Mr. Sark. But soon after arriving at the SD-6 safehouse, the endless hours of close quarter work started to have an unusual affect on the double agent.

Formerly annoying little traits of his – the sarcastic musings, the perfectly messy hair, and of course, the smirk – were suddenly engaging or attractive. That fact alone was disturbing enough, but it went even further.

Night after night, the handsome Brit enticed Sydney in her dreams as well.

She attributed the sensual illusions to the fact that the pair had to share the house's only bedroom. Although he behaved like a gentleman, albeit cold and aloof, she couldn't shake his dream counterpart from her mind.

After a week, Sydney had phoned Francie in desperation, hoping for a friendly distraction. During the course of the conversation, when they were discussing Will's latest romantic dilemma, the topic turned to an unlikely subject.

"_He has it so bad for this girl, Syd," chuckled Francie. "The guy about cried when she said she wanted to 'wait', if you know what I mean."_

"_Aww, poor Will," sympathized Sydney. "What did you suggest?"_

"_Graham crackers."_

"_Will is frustrated and you told him to eat graham crackers?"_

"_And lots of them," added Francie. "It's a well-known fact that graham crackers help curb lust."_

"_Where did you read that? The Enquirer?"_

"_Laugh all you want, but it seems to be helping our lover boy."_

The next morning, Sydney added graham crackers to the grocery order.

Just as the brunette was about to return to the surveillance room, she remembered her excuse for the kitchen run in the first place. Swiping a bottle of water from the refrigerator, she spun around and collided hard with her colleague.

Strong hands grabbed her arms lightly to steady her from the impact. She could feel the slow burn warming her cheeks and looking away, she mumbled, "I just… didn't know you were there."

Sark tilted his head and sought eye contact, observing drolly, "Either your spy skills are slipping, Sydney, or it's all those biscuits you're consuming."

Only a week earlier, a similar comment would've earned the cocky agent a glare, a snipe, or worse. Now, that posh voice, speaking her name, was turning her knees to jelly.

In an attempt to salvage her dignity however, she snapped back, "It's Agent Bristow… and they're crackers, not _biscuits_."

Back at her post, she pulled a fresh pack of the graham treats from her drawer and resumed her fervent munching. Sark returned a few minutes later with a cup of tea. From the corner of her eye, she watched as he pursed his lips together and blew a stream of air over the hot drink.

Sydney sighed delicately at the image before her, recalling how the Sark in her dreams had placed moist kisses over her tummy, blowing softly over them to heighten the sensation.

"Did you say something?"

His question startled her and she shook herself out of the daze, pointing to the screen in an attempt to cover her embarrassment.

Rising from his chair, Sark moved behind her and leaned over her shoulder to have a look. His warmth was intoxicating and when his hand brushed her arm, she bit her lip to contain the moan that fluttered at the back of her throat.

Feebly, she reached for a cracker and held it up next to her head. "Hungry?"

"No thank you. I wouldn't want to deplete your precious supply."

His spicy scent lingered and teased long after he left the room.

_If I could just get him to eat the crackers, too…_

A long night of steamy dreams sent Sydney into action the next morning, crushing the graham crackers into crumbs and baking a delectable cheesecake. She had managed to avoid the source of her frustration for most of the day, since he had ventured into town to gather intelligence.

Upon his return, the beautiful brunette sat waiting for him on his desk, her long legs dangling over the side and a plate of the freshly baked dessert in her hand.

"Cheesecake?" she whispered breathily. "I made it myself."

Blue eyes traveled slowly from the undone buttons of her blouse up to her lovely face, watching curiously as she placed the food in her mouth. Ever so slow, she dragged the fork between full lips, savoring the tangy taste.

Now it was her image enticing him and Sydney took advantage of the turnabout, offering the mesmerized Brit a forkful of pie. Unable to refuse the temptation, he allowed her to feed him, their gazes locked. One for him, one for her; back and forth they shared until it was finished and the plate was discarded.

Somewhere along the way, the graham crackers had failed, or had they?

Taking her hand, Sark coaxed Sydney from the desk and onto his lap. His smirk returned when she brushed a crumb from his lip.

"Does this mean I'm allowed to call you Sydney?"

She flashed him a teasing smirk of her own. "That'll cost you a kiss."


	2. Chapter 2

**Part Two**

_Two weeks later_

_Monday morning_

_SD-6_

Heavy eyelids descended over hazel eyes as Sydney drew in a cautious breath. Fine Italian leather shoes click-clacked over the cold granite floor – crescendo to decrescendo – signaling his approach.

"I trust you're still tired?"

There it was – the only voice she knew of that could be smooth and grating simultaneously.

"Sark, don't…"

Barely opening her eyes, she caught sight of him in her peripheral vision. No one had the right to look that impeccable on less than four hours sleep.

"You should've slept on the plane like I suggested," he paused, his voice dropping, "…not that I'm complaining."

A powerful yawn gobbled up her response, which was just as well. She needed to think clearly, but with temptation looming so near, that was proving difficult. Sydney tried again.

"Look, Sark…what happened the last two weeks," she began, hoping to get through it without having to actually look at him.

Before she could finish her phrase, his smooth fingers gently brushed away a lock of hair and tickled a sweet spot just below her ear. As if under a spell, her head lolled back, the shivers driving her shoulders upward. By the time she had recovered, the elusive operative had disappeared.

The next morning, loud music blasted over the stereo speakers as Sydney drove to work, practicing what she hoped would be a convincing speech.

"It's over…no. That suggests there _was_ something. Um, it was the stress of the situation, that's all."

Editing, adjusting, again and again, the determined agent struggled to find a convincing statement, or at least a way to get her point across without allowing for an argument.

"It was nothing. We both know that. Perfect!"

Sydney also made a mental note to stay at least an arm's length away, still admonishing herself for succumbing to his touch the previous day.

Upon entering the office, her eyes went directly for his desk only to find it vacant. The computer screen was black and lifeless, the chair pushed in fully; even the requisite tea cup was absent.

_Why do you care, Syd? Be grateful…_

However, she soon discovered that not having Sark there was as distracting, if not more so, than the other way around. She was almost tempted to access the mission logs. Almost.

Opening her desk drawer to retrieve a new file folder, she dipped her hand in blindly only to encounter something else. Laughing softly, she lifted out a fresh package of graham crackers, recalling that she had tossed it in there after her trip.

Sydney ripped apart the crinkly paper and pulled one out. The scent alone instantly conjured provocative images and she would've thrown it away had her rumbling tummy not voiced its own opinion.

"Okay, you win," sighed the brunette as she rose from her chair and eyed the coffee cart.

Leaning on the edge of the cart, Sydney poured a thin stream of pale cream into the rich, dark liquid, the steam warming her hand as she stirred. She was nibbling at the edge of the cracker when a loud boom ripped through the office and grey smoke billowed from the technical department.

"It's okay! No worries!" shouted Marshall, waving his arms frantically, with a blinking metal contraption strapped to his head. "Mr. Sloane's not here… right?"

The other agents and office workers had left their desks, either to offer assistance or to escape the mess. In the confusion, no one saw Sydney disappear around the corner. She was still holding the cracker when Sark pinned her against the wall in the deserted hallway.

_So much for keeping your distance…_

Gentle fingers brushed a few crumbs from the corner of her mouth. "Missed me, have you?"

First the explosion, then this. Sydney squeezed her eyes shut and willed her heartbeat to slow, repeating her practiced reply silently in her head.

_It was nothing. We both know that. _

Her eyes flew open at his second caress and all rational thought left her mind, whisked away by the impassioned gaze his blue eyes delivered.

"Sark, it…this… is too complicated."

She wasn't quite sure how his hand had arrived at her lower back, but he was pulling her closer as his lips brushed over hers for a whisper of a kiss.

"Actually," he smirked and released her, heading for the chaos of the open room. "That was quite simple."

By the time Wednesday morning rolled around, Sydney would've accepted a mission to Siberia just to put some distance between her and the Armani-wearing, blonde-haired devil who was two-for-two on her that week.

Not that she was keeping track…

Several overdue reports, an op-tech meeting with Marshall, and an interrogation session kept her occupied the entire day. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the Brit gather up his laptop and prepare to leave the office around four o'clock.

Sydney straightened in her chair and lifted her chin, ready for a verbal sparring as he neared her desk. However, he didn't even acknowledge her when he walked past; he smiled instead at the redhead who sat opposite her.

"Like I care," she muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes in their direction. Sydney was too wrapped up in scoffing and slamming her drawer to notice him watching her from behind the glass door.

"I think he likes me." The redhead thought his amused smirk was for her, but her hopeful giggles were quickly quelled by a stern glare from the brunette agent.

"Geez. Jealous much, Bristow?"

A giddy Francie greeted her at the door that evening, grinning that special way she always did when a secret bubbled just beneath the surface.

"So, tell me… who is he?" gushed her friend.

Setting her purse and briefcase down on the hall table, Sydney followed Francie into the kitchen where she watched her open the fridge like a game show hostess and point to an elegant peach-colored box, secured with a silver taffeta ribbon.

Sydney sighed at the sight.

"Well? Aren't you going to open the cheesecake, Syd?"

"Cheesecake? How did you…?"

Francie smiled sheepishly, "It's from Sophie's Gourmet Bakery and ok, maybe I peeked… a little." She carefully removed the pretty carton, setting it ceremoniously on the counter. "Oh! There's a card, too. Here, open it." She plucked the tiny envelope from its perch in the bow and thrust it at Sydney. "I'm dying to know!"

Sydney didn't need to open the card to know, but she knew her friend would hound her until the mystery was solved. Sliding her finger under the flap, she pulled the thick paper up half-way.

_You're beautiful when you're jealous. _

_Enjoy._

_J – _

Forcing a smile onto her face, she spoke quickly, "It's from a client at the bank, happy that their account was handled well." Looking up, she could see that Francie had her doubts, so she added, "Help yourself to the cake. I need to head back to work for a bit. There is some unfinished business I need to take care of."

"While you're gone, I'm going to eat this delicious dessert," chuckled Francie, licking the rich cream from her fingers and shouting at Sydney as she closed the door, "…and mail in your resignation to that crazy job!"

A half hour later, Sydney charmed her way past the snooty concierge in the exclusive high-rise apartment building and used the long elevator ride to gather her thoughts.

_Jealous! Pfft! If that arrogant Brit thinks he can… _

When the metal doors pulled apart, she stormed out of the elevator only to stop short at the sight in front of her. Julian Sark, barefoot and casually dressed, leaned against the door frame and regarded her with a calm amusement.

"Did you come to thank me?" he drawled, "For the cheesecake, perhaps?"

Sydney ignored his remark and plowed forward, pushing him through the entrance and into the foyer. He exhaled a sharp gasp when his back hit the wall.

"I swear, Sark," she growled, her fists balled up in his soft blue shirt. The top three buttons were undone, exposing the tan skin of his chest and her eyes flew back to his face to regain focus. "If you breathe a word of this to anyone…"

"I thought _this_ was too complicated for you, Sydney."

His tone was admittedly condescending and it earned him another shove, this time into the back of the thick wooden door, slamming it shut with the force of their bodies.

"What did I say about calling me that?"

Burying his hands in her shiny hair, he lowered his face to hers and paused, drinking her in – flushed cheeks, the glint of anger in her hazel eyes, those lush lips. She was indeed beautiful and he willingly paid the cost, capturing her mouth in a searing kiss.

The End


End file.
